by Ann Chaney
Rather than reply, he reached for the clothes. The only sound in the room was the fire and the muted sounds of him donning her brother’s clothes. She kept her back to him until he joined her by the fire.
“I fear you are right about needing more rest. Dressing depleted every bit of strength I possess at the moment which isn’t much. Allow me a few moments. Perhaps until four o’clock. Be assured, when I leave here, you will know as much as I.”
Richard promptly sat down in her reading chair, closed his eyes and in mere moments slept the blissful sleep of a newborn babe.
Serena watched over him until his breathing grew slow and even. She pulled a blanket from her bed to cover him. No need for him to take a chill. With her shawl wrapped around her, she stretched out by the warmth of the fire. Her last thought was how nice the fire’s warmth felt on her back.
She woke to an irritating nudge in her side. She tried to move away, only to have the perpetrator continue his jabs.
“It’s not four o’clock,” she mumbled from her cozy nest.
The clock struck a peal followed by three more.
“Now it is.”
Serena pulled herself from the confines of the shawl to find she had the blanket over her as well. “While your gesture is appreciated, you are the one who needed the additional warmth, not me.”
“Don’t make too much of a pragmatic deed. I need your help. If you are sick with fever or the sniffles, you’ll be no good to me.”
Serena sat up and pulled the blanket more firmly around her, yawning. “Very well, talk.”
He looked away from her gaze. “Last night at the ball Moreham slipped me a note. One of his informants requested a meeting. In the Dials. Hence my less than dandy attire.” He waved a hand over his person. “I met a man at a tavern in the Dials.”
“You went to Seven Dials?”
He waved off her words. “I go where I can learn what I need to know. Your venue is a ballroom. Mine is a gin house. The meeting was a simple drop and grab. For several months, Moreham has been investigating a rumor about a group of peers sympathetic to the Corsican. Tonight, I was to receive the name of one of those associated with this group. I made the exchange then lingered in the tavern. The fellow I met works for both sides, selling his loyalty to the highest bidder. Last night, the King paid the most. Once I thought no one was watching me, I left.”
The harsh reality of their service to the Crown was they lived in different worlds. He was willing to physically fight for his country while all she did was eavesdrop on the conversations of her friends. Moments like this, she wished she’d never asked for an introduction to Moreham.
“What about the note?” She leaned toward him. “What did the message say?”
“The note said, ‘There is a beehive due east of Claverton Manor’.”
“Bees.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “You mentioned honeybees before. Wasn’t there something in the newssheets about Napoleon and Josephine wearing coronation robes embroidered with gold-threaded honeybees?” She frowned. “What is the meaning of Claverton Manor?”
Richard pulled his hand from her grasp and stood though a bit unsteady. He needed to put some distance between them. He spun out of her reach a bit too fast causing pain to shoot down his arm. He saw stars. If she sensed how unsteady he was, she’d insist on putting him in Thorne’s bed and sending for Moreham’s man.
There was no time for such. He’d performed his duties with much worse injuries. Another fact he would keep to himself. The hellion had a point about not sharing secrets.
He walked across the room then propped his good arm on the mantle. “Due east of Claverton is the village of Arnold. Moreham has been looking into the activities of Mr. Percy Arnold of the Quartermaster General’s office in Whitehall. The gentleman deals with the logistics of resupplying the army’s supply train on the Peninsula.”
Serena jumped to her feet clutching the blanket around her shoulders. “This is why you want my help. Is your Mr. Arnold the same Mr. Arnold who is pursuing Whitney’s ward, Miss Gillian Browning? She’s a friend of mine, which I’m certain you already know. Mr. Arnold has caused a few brows to rise over his far too bold pursuit of a duke’s ward.”
He nodded. “Moreham shared that piece of information. Few know this, but Lady Gillian is the by-blow of Whitney’s younger brother. Whitney assumed guardianship upon his brother’s death when Miss Browning was a child. The duke has buried her true origins under a pile of money. Arnold is her first suitor. Moreham says the duchess is desperate for Miss Browning to marry. Everyone knows whatever Whitney’s duchess wants, she gets.”
“Yes, I do know. Gillian called on me last week and confided she is most unhappy at the prospect of marrying Mr. Arnold. According to Gillian, the duke and his duchess are the ones encouraging the match. The duchess can be a force to be reckoned with and if she feels Mr. Arnold is Gillian’s only hope, she will do all within her power to see the couple wedded.”
He smiled down at her. “Tomorrow night, you’re going to lure him to the white gazebo in the duchess’ rose garden, so we can arrest him and take him into custody for interrogation.”
Serena tossed the blanket aside. “You have some nerve to come to me in the dead of night risking my good name, implicate a dear friend of mine in your so-called investigation and suggest I behave inappropriately with an unmarried man.” Serena fisted her hands and hit him in his good shoulder. “How dare you suggest I behave so? My agreement with Moreham is to dance a few dances when he appears at a ball. I’m not a spy. I’m not trained to mislead others or misrepresent myself. I am most certainly not a lightskirt!”
He fought the urge to roll his eyes at the infuriating woman. “I understood you to be an experienced operative. Surely, you’ve cozied up to any number of gentlemen since Moreham took you on. You did seek him out? You did offer your services when needed? Well, your skill is needed now to lure a possible traitor away from the ballroom.”
What neither Serena nor Moreham knew was he possessed a second note. A missive sent to Camberley, and the reason he’d returned to Town a fortnight earlier. A sennight before he notified Moreham he was back in Town and ready to serve.
That note spoke of Arnold’s direct involvement in his father’s death. Richard wanted the traitor to confess to killing his father, James, Viscount Weatherington, his coachman and two footmen. At his father’s grave, Richard had promised to find his killer. No one, not Moreham or Serena would stop him from honoring that promise.
He forced his mind to return to the issue of arresting Percy Arnold and Serena’s role in doing so. “Swoon. Cast up your accounts or create any other diversion you can think of. You are beautiful, intelligent and more than up to the challenge. Once we have detained him, you can return to the party with no one the wiser.”
“You want me to act the lightskirt with a man to whom I have never been introduced. A man who is a suitor to the one lady I can claim as a friend?” Serena glared at him.
“Yes, I do.”
“What about Lady Gillian? If she sees me with Mr. Arnold, I could lose her friendship. After four seasons, everyone I know is married or off taking care of a sick relative or teaching someone else’s children. You ask too much.”
“She won’t know. Someone will be with her.”
“Who?”
He’d known this moment would come. “Moreham.”
“If Moreham will be at the ball, why isn’t he overseeing the capture?”
“Serena, we are the foot soldiers. Moreham doesn’t share his rationale for the plans he devises with me.”
Women could be such trials at times. He hated himself for what he was about to say. “If you don’t agree to help us, Moreham will ask Lady Gillian for her assistance in the arrest. He feels she is unaware of Arnold activities. An impassioned plea for her to give aid to her country and save her family from scandal are more than enough incentive for her to agree.”
An empty threat, but she didn’t know that. Serena
was their only choice. She’d proven she’d do as she was told, or so Moreham believed. A theory Richard found hard to believe. The Serena Richard knew was not biddable.
Serena opened her mouth. He reached up and pressed his fingertips to her lips. “Enough, you have my word. Lady Gillian will be safe and will not know of your complicity in Mr. Arnold’s arrest.”
Serena stuck her hand out and waited. The woman was impossible, but she was the best or so Moreham assured him. She wasn’t the only one with no other recourse. He grasped her small hand and shook it.
“Very well,” Serena said, “but I will not allow my friend to risk complete ruin over a scoundrel. Particularly, a scoundrel she doesn’t hold in any affection. I vow to do as you ask, within reason, of course.”
He exhaled, relieved Serena had finally come over to his way of thinking. Dare he hope she’d provide her aid then forget all she knew?
“You’d do well to remember, I’m no longer that little girl who ran after you with her heart on her sleeve for all to see. I’ve learned to take care of myself. Keep your distance and I’ll keep mine.”
Having delivered what he thought was an unnecessary set down, Serena gave him her back as she crossed the bedchamber to what he assumed was her dressing room door. She spoke to Nettie who stood in the doorway. “His lordship is ready to leave.”
The maid directed her hard glare in his direction. Serena wasn’t the only eavesdropper in Burley’s household. He waved his good arm to Nettie for her to lead the way. She didn’t utter a word as she led the way out of the bedchamber. He looked around the room one last time.
Earlier, he worried about the reception he’d receive from Serena. Now, he worried about a far worse consequence. What if his feelings for Serena distracted him? For the first time since he’d joined Moreham, he doubted his ability to push aside his emotions.
He wanted to see Rena smile. Maybe laugh at his jests? Dangerous thinking on his part for certain.
Chapter 4
A mere six hours later, Serena sat in the middle of her bed with a tray bearing a rack of cold toast and a half empty chocolate cup. Nettie bustled around the room. The maid had not uttered a word about Richard’s visit, but she knew her constant companion was bursting to say her piece about his arrival back into Serena’s life.
“Nettie, if I have a choice between sulking and a lecture. I prefer the lecture.”
Nettie turned around with lips pursed and eyes filled with ire. “You’ve chased that boy since the first time he visited Pendleton with Lord Thorne. Now, he steals into your bedchamber in the middle of the night. You should’ve sent him back out that window the moment you saw him. Mark my words, you’re going to end up married to the bounder. Lord Thorne, off fighting on the Peninsula with Lord Wellington, would create such a fuss if he knew about last night.”
Serena growled. “Enough. He was hurt. I couldn’t turn him away. Four years have passed since Thorne’s birthday ball. As I told his lordship last night, I’m no longer that starry eyed young girl who thought herself in love with him. There is no need for you to fret on my behalf. Being pranced around on the Marriage Mart like a broodmare has hardened my heart. Seeing other ladies suffer from arranged marriages to men old enough to be their grandfathers or equally as bad, young men in search of a wife with a dowry to fund their forays into gambling hells and brothels, night after night, has taught me I’m the only person who can look after my best interests.”
Serena tossed back the bedclothes. If she were honest with herself, she’d own up to the misgivings she harbored about Richard. The shadows in his eyes spoke of a pain not even she could understand. She’d wager her quarterly allowance whatever preyed on his soul had to do with his father’s death.
Later than same day, Serena settled in a corner of the morning room and attempted to work on her needlepoint. Nettie sat in the corner hemming new table linens. Aunt Philly had left early that morning for parts unknown, so Nettie was acting as chaperone. Serena jumped at the chiming of the hall longcase clock. Three o’clock? Where was Richard? The answer to that question was as nebulous as her response to Nettie about Richard crawling through her window in the wee hours of the morning.
Over the last year, she’d learned the likes of Richard and Moreham lived by a different set of rules. Manipulations, half-truths, and other machinations to uncover the Crown’s enemies. A role many of their peers regarded as dishonorable since often times they exposed the crimes of other peers.
The quarter hour chimed. The door opened. Ouch. She nicked her finger. Serena tossed her embroidery aside and stuck her injured finger in her mouth.
“Viscount Weatherington, my lady.” Her father’s butler, Herbert, moved to the side allowing Richard to enter the room.
Last night she’d not seen any sign of the gentleman she’d encountered at the ball. Now in the light of day that dapper fellow returned. Dressed in a coat of Bath superfine, the same distinctive shade of blue as his eyes, with pristine white linen and a simply tied cravat. He was the antithesis of his appearance just a few hours before.
She rose to her feet and bobbed a curtsey as he bowed. He acknowledged Nettie with an impish grin and a wicked wink. The maid gasped at his audacity. Serena started to demand he offer his apology, but the maid smiled. Was she the only woman in England immune to his charm?
Richard waited for Serena to take her seat on the settee. He sat down beside her with his back in the corner of the sofa.
“Good morning, my lord. May I say it is a pleasure to have you call?”
“You may say so.” He leaned close and whispered, “We should discuss our plans for this evening.”
“Nettie, please ask Cook for a tea tray. Leave the door open.”
Once the maid was gone, Serena turned back to Richard. “Yes, well. As you inferred last evening, I am well versed in courting rituals and should be able to entice the gentleman into the garden.”
Richard winced. “You’re still put out with me. You must put aside your emotions. For us to be successful, you must use your intellect. Be pragmatic! Give your word, no heroics. I will take care of Arnold.”
“By yourself? I assumed others would be nearby.” She pressed a little too strongly, but she must find out what would happen once she and Arnold were in that gazebo.
“There will be others. I would never involve you in an endeavor that was fraught with danger. Our escapade tonight will be a simple maneuver.”
“I fail to find reassurance in your words. According to Moreham, you prefer to work alone. I go into this as a full partner. I’m in this until the end. I’ll have your word on this or you can call on Miss Browning next.”
Richard remained silent for a bare moment before nodding his agreement. For an instant, she’d feared he would call her bluff and leave her to report her insubordination to Moreham. The spymaster ran a tight ship or so others had said in her hearing. She didn’t relish being the one to disrupt his latest strategic plan.
“I don’t have time to call on Miss Browning as you well know. Well played, my dear. You were right. You’re no longer that little girl. It’s pity I rather liked her.”
Hours later, standing in the entry hall of Whitney Place, Serena took shallow breaths, trying to relax. Should Aunt Philly or one of the other matrons notice her nervousness, their eyes would be trained on her all evening. Not an eventuality she needed. Better to be thought unremarkable if her part in Moreham’s scheme were to remain covert.
She followed behind Aunt Philly in the receiving line. Her aunt pointedly looked down at her hands. She almost groaned at the sight of her fingers twisting the drawstrings of her reticule. A certain sign of nerves.
She must remember what Moreham told her that first meeting in the park. “Never forget someone is watching, a gossipy matron or a foreign operative. Never give them reason to look at you a second time.”
Hopefully, Percy Arnold would think her an empty-headed miss. That afternoon, Serena had practiced smiling in her mirror when she was s
upposed to be napping.
Serena shivered. She feared the words agent of the King were stamped on her forehead in huge letters. Her agreement to take part took her one step further down a dangerous path.
Would she ever be the same again?
Until now, passing on conversations or making observations had taken little effort on her part. Tonight, was a defining moment. Her actions could result in Mr. Arnold paying the ultimate price for betraying his country… death by hanging.
The crowd evaporated and the receiving line materialized. Aunt Philly greeted the duke. Serena stepped forward and took her host’s hand, smiling at him like a witless miss. If the duke knew of her intentions, she would’ve been shown the door, of that she had no doubt.
After exchanging greetings with both the duke and duchess, Serena stepped over to greet her friend, Miss Gillian Browning. Some of her unease faded when Gillian saw her and smiled. Before her friend could speak, Gillian’s companion, stepped in front of her and boldly took hold of Serena’s hand.
So, this was Percy Arnold. Dressed in a black formal jacket and white satin knee breeches, Arnold still lacked the polish of the other gentlemen of her acquaintance. The man didn’t hold a candle to Richard’s handsomeness or his charm.
Before Gillian could make the introduction, Mr. Arnold kissed the air above her fingertips. Gillian frowned at the untoward gesture but recovered to belatedly make the introduction. Serena smiled and pulled her hand from his grip as soon as she could properly do so without causing any offense.
“Lady Serena, I hope you will save a dance for me?”
The man smirked as he waited for her response. He knew she had no other choice but to graciously accept. His presence in the receiving line at Gillian’s side implied an understanding existed. Refuse Arnold and she’d insult the duke. Serena lowered her lashes to hide the quick glance she shot in Gillian’s direction. The poor woman looked horrified at Arnold’s forwardness. How she wished she could tell her friend the truth.